


No Strong Opinions

by SenkoWakimarin



Series: A Toast to Something New [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Frank Castle Being Terminally Repressed, M/M, Protective Foggy Nelson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21978937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Frank's decided not to have any opinions on David's relationship status.
Relationships: David "Micro" Lieberman/Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Frank Castle/David "Micro" Lieberman
Series: A Toast to Something New [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1574695
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	No Strong Opinions

**Author's Note:**

> Remember last year when I wrote two fics and then like, never went back to them?
> 
> Let's go back to them.

Dropping back into David's life after intentionally vanishing on him comes with a small period of adjustment. Frank didn't like to let himself hope for much, and expected nothing good to come easily; he considered it better luck than he really deserved that David was willing to let him back into his life again. 

Whatever outcome he'd wanted for the Liebermans, whatever happiness he'd hoped for them, it's not shocking that things turned out the way they did. What they'd been through was too huge, too complex, too traumatic not to have fundamentally altered the way they interacted with one another. He's not wholly shocked to show up one day and hear that David's moved into his own place in the city, has a new job, has some kind of visitation schedule worked out where he comes to see the kids. Love goes a long way, but it's not unbreakable, and it's certainly not immutable. 

In a way -- a quiet, selfish way -- Frank thought at the start that the divorce might come with some small benefit. After all, he doesn't have to sort through the guilt of dragging David back into his shit if he's not also risking Sarah and the kids. They can go on with their lives, rebuild and move on, and David being single left... certain other possibilities on the table.

There'd been a certain magnetism between them, living together in that basement. A spark that flared up when they argued, or when David stepped in to help Frank patch himself up, or when David was drinking and Frank couldn't quite make himself stop watching. Before, with the goal of getting David back to his family, there had been a plethora of good reasons to resist that pull, to wall himself off, to deny that anything beyond a working relationship could or should exist between them.

Their friendship was the kind of thing that wasn't meant to exist, and after Frank ghosted, certainly shouldn't have survived. Coming back and finding David single and happy to see him had been an opportunity that felt too good to be true. And of course, it _was_ too good to be true.

Because David was divorced, true, but David wasn't single.

Frank doesn't exactly understand exactly how things came together for David to end up even meeting his one-time lawyer. It's the kind of cosmic luck Frank's not sure how to categorize -- because Nelson is a good man, if a little self-righteous and a little obnoxious in his belief in the inherent justice of the legal system. Nelson is the sort of man who can give David the sort of love and support and emotional availability Frank never could, things David more than deserves.

Doesn't make it sting less, having Red's moony-eyed buddy shacked up with David, but Frank figures it helps keep his head clear. He's got a mission, and the mission isn't the kind of thing that leaves a lot of room for romance.

Nelson is afraid of Frank.

This is a fact, and it's a fact about which Frank has absolutely no opinion.

He refuses to have an opinion about it, because people being afraid of him is sort of the point. Frank's gone out of his way to make himself the sort of man other people are afraid of, even people who side with him, so having a strong opinion about Nelson being appropriately scared of him even though David has to have explained that Frank would never hurt either of them intentionally would be hypocritical. Frank tries to leave the hypocrisy to Red and the rest of the caped crowd willing to get their hands dirty but never finish the fucking job.

Frank's built himself up as a boogeyman of sorts. Everything from his appearance to his manners is meant to distance himself from other people, so while he doesn't posture (much) or pick fights (often) when he's spending time with David and Nelson, he's perfectly willing to accept that of the three of them, he's the one presenting the most obvious danger. Nelson, like most people, is risk avoidant, so it follows that even on his best behaviour Frank would spook him.

Now, given that Nelson _chose_ to start playing house with Lieberman after David told him everything about his connection to Frank (another fact about which Frank has very pointedly refused to develop and opinion on after learning), Frank thinks it would be _nice_ if he didn't linger ten feet back every time he's asked to share a room with Frank. It would be _nice_ if he didn't watch Frank like Frank's seconds away from pulling out a gun and shooting him dead at all times. It would be _nice_ for Nelson not to treat Frank like a bomb set to go off at any time, needing ample clearance and no sudden moves made around him. 

It would be _nice_ for Nelson to relax, but all things considered, Frank doesn't really blame him for his behaviour.

For what it's worth, Nelson has never tried to call the cops, and he's never tried to convince Lieberman to drop contact with Frank. 

Well, he's never done it in front of Frank, but Frank's pretty sure he's not tried in private, either. For one thing, Frank thinks David would act a lot weirder about having both Frank and Nelson in the same room if Nelson had tried that shit, but for another... Nelson's a decent man. And he's been fucked over enough by people he cares about doing dumb shit, Frank figures he's learned the art of holding on loosely. In any case, Frank doesn't think he's tried to demand, coerce, or even hint that David should head for the hills where Frank's concerned, and Frank elects to take that as Something.

A step in the right direction, maybe. If the 'right direction' in this case is really comfortable cohabitation between the three of them, at least.

Honestly, Frank tries not to think about it too much, because it's a lot of unnecessary emotional shit. The long and short of it is that he needs help where tech shit is concerned, and he _likes_ that help coming from David. Having to deal with Nelson to get to have David in his life is an acceptable situation. 

He elects to have no strong opinions on all the rest. It's easier that way.

Since returning to New York, Frank's done his best to put himself on a sort of schedule. Curtis has told him, many times, that routine was key in dealing with the bullshit mental health cesspit Frank's plagued with. The rage issues, the nausea-inducing bouts of terror that snap him awake in the night, dreams he can only half remember because they're too damn ugly to face consciously. Frank has always resisted, when he was trying to lay low after dealing with Schoonover. 

It's obnoxious, galling, in fact, to learn that it actually fucking helps. Knowing the projected course of a day, being able to plan contingencies. Not trying to pretend to be someone else, some random civilian, that helps too, though Curt won't talk to him about the shit he gets up to, or where the money comes from to pay his rent when he's got no job, or the bruises and broken-open knuckles he turns up with sometimes. 

He makes himself a schedule, and he keeps to it as much as he can. Curt appreciates that, if he can't appreciate anything else Frank's doing.

Part of that schedule has become taking the Line 5 into Alphabet City on Thursday nights, as often as he can, buying a six pack of beer or (occasionally) a bottle of the gin Lieberman likes from the bodega up the block from the station, and visiting with Lieberman. He'll do this whether he needs help from David or not.

He does it because he disappeared before, but now he's back. He does it because David doesn't tell him to stay away. Because it's comfortable, the way they can sit in near silence together and be content with it.

Some weeks, Nelson's not around when Frank shows up. Nelson doesn't live with David -- not yet, though at their present trajectory, Frank imagines it's really only a matter of time, pressing his lips together and pointedly forming no opinions on the matter -- but Nelson _does_ have a key to Lieberman's door. Despite knowing that Thursday nights are the nights Frank's most likely to show up on, Nelson sometimes decides to be there anywhere. Or show up halfway through Frank's visit.

Once he showed up with food, clearly not thinking of a third mouth to feed. He pulled out a plate from David's cupboards and divided the take out up between the three of them, wordlessly shoving the plate of keema masala and rice into Frank’s hands and then going back into the kitchen to eat while Frank and David talked. Frank decided not to have an opinion on either Nelson deciding to feed a known criminal or the easy way he knew what was in David's cabinets and where.

Nelson never asks questions or demands to know what Frank's getting up to in his spare time, and he never says anything when he walks into David helping Frank dig up information. He presses his lips together and gets real quiet before he goes and fucks around in the kitchen or the bathroom until Frank and David finish whatever they're working on and Frank leaves. 

Frank thinks he's maybe not the only one electing not to form any opinions about certain things.

Today is not Thursday, and it's far from evening. Last time he looked at a clock, it was three AM, Monday morning, and so -- he can't quite trust his internal clock -- by now it's probably more like five-thirty, maybe closer to six. He's not sure. He knows he dozed on the train and woke up so sharp it had scared the lanky, bookish-looking kid who was sharing the car with him. Now he's slowly dragging himself up the stairs of Lieberman's building.

He wanted to take the elevator. Give himself just that little bit of a break. This hour, the elevator would be empty, he could close his eyes for a second while it rattled up to the fourth floor. But the elevator has been broken for three months and Frank's pretty sure at this point that it's going to stay that way. He focuses on the stairs instead, one step at a time, each one taking him closer to relief. If he lets himself get annoyed by the shitty building maintenance or by the fact that he _knows_ David could have done better for himself, or the fact that David only didn't because he was the kind of depressive who punished himself instead of the people who hurt him -- if he lets himself get annoyed by any of that shit, it's going to spiral into something real ugly.

Anger is only useful when it's focused, and this right now? This is never going to be anything other than a distraction. His mood is frayed from exhaustion, he's beat to shit, and he's pretty sure he's going to have to move his own shitty apartment soon for the sake of his own sanity. He needs to crash somewhere for a while, somewhere where he's not going to wake up to the asshole above him screaming at his wife or the baby down the hall crying while the druggy parents sleep another binge off. 

There's nights, after a hard fight or a particularly bad recon, where he feels useless and worthless, like all his effort can't amount to fuck-all anyway so the effort is just time wasted in a war that can't be won or even fought properly. Everything, every tiny annoyance on those nights feels overwhelming, and the violence in him sits uneasy, self control threadbare. Nights like that, home sweet home is not an option. 

Sometimes he sleeps in his van. Sometimes on park benches. One time he took money he could have saved for something important, like ammo or gear, and he rented a motel room. 

He knocks on Lieberman's door three times, loud enough to be heard but not enough to be obnoxious. Lieberman's got neighbours, the kind that seem to mind their own business and seem to keep themselves to themselves, so he doesn't want to make trouble for him by being loud. Not before dawn, not when he knows someone yelling at him to shut up is liable to set him off in a bad way.

After the third knock, he starts fumbling in his pocket for his picks, because it's too goddamn early and he wouldn't expect Lieberman to be up at this hour. It's not yet even six in the fucking morning, it's not a visiting hour, but David's said over and over, so sincere, that if Frank ever needs a place to crash, his couch is always available. Frank's never taken him up on the offer, but he's got no savings for a motel now, and it's too goddamn cold to sleep outdoors. 

This is just him taking the offer Lieberman has made. 

Busted open knuckles and the general chill of the season make his hands clumsier than he likes, so he's only just got his tools out when the door is yanked open against the chain. Before Frank can even focus in the low light enough to see that it's not Lieberman peering out from the cracked door, Nelson sighs, shuts the door and unchains it, then pulls it open wide. He stands there holding it while Frank pockets his picks again, and Frank absolutely refuses to have any feelings whatsoever about Nelson being at Lieberman's place at six AM on a Monday.

"Just need a place to crash," Frank says, standing awkwardly in the dark living room, peering through the gloom to where Nelson is locking the door behind him. He wonders if that makes Nelson nervous, locking himself in a room with a murderer, and then decides he doesn't care. He has no opinion on Nelson's comfort level, just like he has no opinion on Nelson being here in the first place. He can hear David sleeping his own late night off in the bedroom down the hall, watches Nelson cross the living room in the dark heading back there himself. "Lieberman 'd said I could... th' couch."

It feels fucking weird, trying to justify himself to someone. Feeling like an intruder, feeling like he's interrupting someone's peace, feeling like an inconvenience. It's not the kind of shit that he usually cares about, or would even notice if it was a moment where he _should_ feel that way and it would actually matter.

The light is on over the stove in the kitchen. The apartment has a modern-ish open floor plan, the kitchen opening up on the living room enough that the light keeps the whole space from being pitch-dark. Frank can see Nelson nod, paused in the threshold between the hallway and living room, and he looks pretty tired himself. His hair's mused up, his frown is softer, more thoughtful than it usually is. When he glances over Frank's face, half lit by that light from the kitchen, he politely doesn't say anything about the bruises or the swell of Frank's freshly broken nose, even if he narrows his eyes and sighs. 

Frank had cleaned himself up in a gas station bathroom off the I-9 before getting back into the city and deciding to come here. He's seen what he looks like in the unflattering cold fluorescent light, and he doesn't imagine half-shadow is doing him too many favours. Frank's pretty sure by Nelson's standards, he's nothing much to look at at the best of times.

He keeps expecting Nelson to say something. It's not exactly a fucking secret that Nelson doesn't agree with his way of handling things, that he doesn't like what he does or who he is. Nelson's made it pretty clear in the past that he thinks Frank's just as bad, if not worse, than the trash he mops up night after night. He's scared of Frank, so maybe that's what keeps his mouth shut this time. 

That should be much more satisfying a concept than it is, and Frank refuses to develop and opinion on why it's not satisfying at all. 

Maybe Nelson's just trying to be polite. Christ knows Nelson has better manners than 99% of the people Frank deals with on a regular basis, and he's flat out stated that the world would be better with Frank in prison. 

Anyway, it's definitely for the best that Nelson can't find his tongue. Frank's not sure, in this mood, how much of Nelson's morally superior quibbling he could take. Or worse, concern. Nelson's never had too much to say to him that wasn't laced with obvious suspicion or distaste, but he's also a bleeding heart and it's too easy to imagine him pushing his disgust for who and what Frank is out of the way to decide to make charity out of him. Frank wouldn't be able to deal with any of that shit right now, and he's going to need a few hours of sleep before he can deal with anyone clucking over him.

Sitting down on the couch after Nelson finally turns again and leaves, Frank heaves out a big breath, trying to settle the ugly energy pulsing through him as he bends to unlace his boots. He makes himself be mindful of the task, focused on the laces, the feel of them through the eyelets, the pattern of how they cross, before he kicks them off and shoves them carefully under the coffee table so no one ends up tripping over them. 

Lieberman always tried to get him to rest when he was here visiting. Kept talking about how comfortable the couch was, and when Frank stretches out across it, he's surprised to find it actually _is_ pretty goddamn comfy. He closes his eyes, breathing another slow, deep exhale, and forces himself to be calm about it when Nelson steps back into the room, bringing a couple pillows and a blanket.

It's a shockingly considerate gesture. Nelson is unfailingly polite in that he always tacks on a please or a thank you, but he's a rude son-of-bitch in that way honest people have where they use honesty as a bludgeon to remind other people of their own shittier behaviour. Frank had expected Nelson to go back to bed, or maybe get ready to leave since it's a Monday and Frank knows he works for some fancy firm now. Nelson going out of his way to do something nice is... a bit of a shock.

Sitting up again and accepting the items, Frank makes the couch into a more proper bed, listening to Nelson move around the apartment but the light over the stove. He's obviously at home here, familiar enough to keep quiet despite the poor lighting as he goes about his business. Frank can smell coffee brewing; he closes his eyes and lets himself listen as Nelson opens the fridge, opens a cupboard, unscrews the cap of what has to be a thermos because a moment later he's dumping what sounds like the whole pot of coffee into it. 

Nelson moves around the apartment without a word, quiet for a heavy guy working in the dark. He goes from the kitchen, through the living room, back to the bedroom, then the bathroom, runs water, opens the cabinet, shuts it. Frank can track him, imagining what he's doing, but it's not worth the effort, really. It's pleasant white noise. Then Nelson comes back to the living room, sitting himself down on the arm of the couch, pulling his shoes on. 

After a moment, Nelson clears his throat, unmoved by Frank laying still and keeping his eyes closed. When Frank gives in and cracks his eye open, he notices immediately that Nelson's switched from using the light in the kitchen to the flashlight on the back of his phone. The phone is so excessively bright by comparison that Frank's mystified as to why Nelson didn't just turn the overheads on, which he states plain before trying to roll onto his side and bury his face away from the light.

Nelson's hand presses to his ankle, stilling him. It's completely innocuous, meaningless, and with the thick cotton of Frank's socks in the way, they're not even touching skin to skin. It still makes Frank jump, breath stilling in his lungs for a moment, whole body trying to coil up, ready for violence. Frank can't account for the reaction, and he certainly can't account for why when he goes compliantly still when he looks up at Nelson through the too-bright light filling up the space and Nelson just meets his eyes and doesn't move. 

The thing about Nelson is, he's easy to write off as a coward, a spineless, naive fool who uses the law as a way to justify his refusal to take a stand and do anything difficult or passing dangerous. Frank made that mistake before; it was an easy one to make. Sometimes Frank thinks Nelson puts that air on for a reason, to disarm his opponents. 

Except Nelson doesn't really seem the type to be strategizing, not that way at least. More likely, that naivety is come by honestly, and he's kind enough a person to come off as a fool, too willing to believe the best of others despite seeing so much to prove he should be bracing for the worst in everyone. Nelson isn't a coward, and he's not actually stupid, it's just he only seems to use his bravery and intelligence when he's standing up for someone else. 

No sense of self preservation. 

It should be easy to dismiss him from the roster of potential threats, but Frank knows he's not half as soft as he seems, not in any way that counts. Good men like him get themselves killed trying to stand up to bullies; Nelson nearly had. Took a bullet to the chest, as Frank recalled, while he was standing up against a crooked DA in corrupt case on Frank's behalf. 

A job he'd never been thanked for, not in any real way, and that could have ended his career if not his life. 

Frank can't understand why Nelson's sitting there by his feet, eyeballing him. It should be laughable, Nelson primly perched on the arm of the couch, arm still stretched out so he can press his fingers against Frank's ankle, looking down at Frank with cool, studious assessment. He looks like he's reading up on some legal maneuver, one he doesn't particularly like.

He looks like a _threat_ , and Frank thinks it should be funny, hysterical, but it's not. Nelson is a short, pudgy, baby-faced lawyer, and there's no way in hell he could land a hit on Frank if Frank didn't allow it. Frank's got pounds of muscle on him, and Frank's trained to fight, while Nelson looks like the closest he's ever gotten to a brawl was watching a boxing match on some sports bar television. 

That cool-eyed look of plain consideration manages to make Frank feel small and fidgety anyway. 

"David's told me how good of a friend he thinks you are," Nelson says, after way too long a silence. "Honestly, from what I hear and compared to my own experiences, I suppose he could have picked worse than you."

It's unclear whether Nelson is trying to piss Frank off on purpose or what. Maybe he is -- certainly it's working, whether he means it to or not, but he doesn't back off or look away when Frank starts tensing up again. Just looks at him like he's no real threat at all, like he talks murderers down all day, like even if Frank _did_ lash out he'd still win.

Maybe he would. Frank knows damn well David wouldn't be thrilled if Frank busted his boyfriend's face, even if Nelson baited him into it. Lieberman was obsessed with the idea that Frank was better than a weapon, could find an end to his war if they took out the right target; Lieberman liked to insist that Frank was capable of keeping himself under control. 

"I just want to make something very clear, Frank," Nelson says, finally moving just a little, shifting his weight so he's leaning a little toward Frank. This should be _hilarious_ , Nelson working himself up to some kind of... what, shovel talk? Warning? 

Whatever it's meant to be, just the _idea_ of Nelson, chubby, soft-eyed Nelson, trying to say anything to Frank and make it a _threat_ should be so fucking funny Frank shouldn't be able to breathe for the laughter. Frank finds his own laugh of amusement to be disarming.

"If you fuck my boyfriend while I'm at work, I'm going to be very disappointed." Nelson fays softly. "In both of you, but particularly in you."

There’s a whole range of discrete emotions that evokes in Frank, but largely he finds himself _offended_. He’s offended that Nelson thinks he’d do that, sure, but he’s also extremely offended that he thinks _Lieberman_ would go along with it. Which is what he probably should say, but with his mood all jumbled up between irritability and exhaustion, he can't quite get himself to say anything at all. His mouth works, his brow furrows, but he can't make a single meaningful word come out. 

It's honestly a miracle combination of self-control and blind-sided shock that keeps him laying flat. He could be on his feet with Nelson's head through the nearest wall in a matter of seconds, and part of him wants that, part of him is itching for it, but he knows lashing out now would only make things worse. He's capable of damage mitigation, he's capable of control.

He winds up saying first thing he can push past this throat, snapped out in the nastiest tone he can manage: “Suppose you'd prefer I wait ‘til you get back?”

And Nelson’s eyebrows slide up, his head cocked at a slight angle as if he’s thinking that over, before he pats Frank’s leg and slides to his feet with an infuriating little hum of consideration. 

"You broke his heart already. Couple times, by my count," Nelson says, soft and conversational. The stability of Frank's anger falls out from under him, bulldozed by a shock of hurt at the idea, and the reluctant understanding that Nelson might not be wrong. "He wants you in his life and I can learn to be fine with that, but I'm not going to sit to the side and watch you hurt him again."

"I'm not gonna --"

Nelson shrugs, leaning down to grab his phone and switching off the flashlight, dropping the room suddenly into full dark. "How'm I supposed to know what you're going to do? You’re The Punisher; far as I can tell, you do whatever you want.”

The silence after that feels huge, heavy, and Frank can’t think of a damn thing to say. He supposes that’s what makes Nelson good at his job, that way of talking that paints whoever he’s pit himself against into a corner. He wonders if the opposing lawyers dream about punching Nelson too, or if that’s just Frank. 

When he doesn’t say anything, Nelson hums again, that frustrating little sound, and undoes the locks on the front door, letting himself out into the dimly lit hall as dawn breaks, grey and filmy, through the window. He pauses with the door cracked to throw one last knife: “Tell David to text me if you’re staying for dinner so I know who to buy food for.”

Then, the door is shut, and dawn is slowly crawling through the windows, grey and cold, leaving Frank alone with the distant sounds of David snoring, desperately trying to figure out what it is he’s feeling. He feels hollowed out and blindsided, so caught out by Nelson’s attitude and insinuation that he can’t manage to be angry despite being distinctly, keenly aware that he should be. At least, he figures, that simmering rage he'd carried here has died down. Happy casualty of Nelson's weird accusatory bullshit. 

He’s also, and this discovery is rather more horrifying, bizarrely turned on. Presumptuous and out of nothing as that had come, he _liked_ Nelson standing his ground, liked the way he was (uselessly, pointlessly) protective of David. 

And that little hum, considering, when Frank snapped at him the first time. Looking at him in the light off his phone like the idea of the three of them, together, was… 

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles to himself, hiking the blanket around his shoulders and turning over onto his side to bury his face in the pillow. The pillow _Nelson_ went and got him, after opening the door and letting him in. 

It’s a lot of bullshit, and he has no idea how to sort any of it out into concrete meaning.

Better to just continue on forming no strong opinions, leaving the boat un-rocked. 


End file.
